


The Hideaway

by Sonny



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, PanFandom Naptime Comment Fic, Prompt Fic, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-19
Updated: 2011-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 03:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/Sonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT - SPN, Dean/Sam, cuddling after sex (R) - Sam calls it cuddling. Dean calls it too fucked out to move. Neither care or want to do anything different - from krystalicekitsu from LiveJournal</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hideaway

  
**  
_The Hideaway_   
**   


He watches from across the room, perched along the wall beside the trashy motel's lone window. He was frustrated a few minutes ago, which is why he's out of bed and on his feet. But he's beginning to feel drowsy enough to return to slide under the covers.

He's not alone. He hasn't been alone for quite awhile now, and he's not sure he wants to ever be alone again. He thinks about what life would've been like had he not been here, standing where he is right now. He's scared to even imagine being without the person who's asleep on the sagging mattress.

It was a impulse decision—this hideaway motel. They'd been on a hunt for three days and managed to snag their culprit six miles back in Silver Springs, Nevada. They didn't get very far in the Impala before they had to stop and take refugee. The car needed gas, some of the bodywork was shot, but mostly it was because so much adrenaline and testosterone had built up between them, they had to make a pit stop or else find themselves on the side of the road, traipsing in the woods all for a quick suck or fuck.

Sam doesn't mind the dirt and grime of a run-down no-tell-motel—hell, they both were already covered in half the mud and guts of the last thing they had finished hunting. Dean's the one who wants a decent motel—or one that had large rooms with double beds and kitchens, not hourly rates and a neon sign outside that keeps frantically spazzing between being “no vacancy” to “vacancy”. The place's manager on sight had been promising to fix that bulb in the “no”, but there was always better things to use the extra money for—like hookers and speed.

Dean's become something of a “romantic” in their relationship.

Sam snorts out a laugh, wandering over to the side of the bed where Dean is dangling his left arm down to the floor, fingertips scraping the thin carpeting as the mattress shifts. His other arm is raised and curled about his head, fingers of that hand shifting through his bluntly cut locks. Sam knows he's completely naked underneath that single draw sheet, only because he and Dean had just rushed through another round of life-or-death fucking.

Sam's wide awake, Dean's worn out; it always seemed to end up that way whenever they ended a hunt these days.

Sam wants to cuddle and snuggle or at least set his arm about Dean, but Dean wants no part of the sentimentality of post-coital _feelings_. Fine. Sam can deal; he has for this long. He only knows what Dean doesn't want to admit, that no matter what his brother tries to do to keep his distance since they started having sex, Sam isn't going to budge. Ever.

He squats to the floor and checks Dean's shoulder wound on the back of the left shoulder blade. Sam works off the medical tape and looks under to make sure the deep cut isn't spewing puss or leaking too much blood. It's healing nicely as Dean tries not to move too much in slumber. Sam stands to his feet and steps around the bed, coming around to slowly back in to climb under the sheet.

He sits up higher than the pillows, leaning backward on the headboard as the bed frame creaks with his movements. Sam stares down on the hidden head beneath the curled arm and he takes the wrist to shift the limb so he can reach the matted, mussed hair on Dean's head. Soon, he's massaging the scalp, running fingers down the back along the nape to soothe over the space between the shoulder blades. He's always startled how soft Dean's skin is to touch, how warm he feels even exposed to cool air. As his hand travels downward, the body begins to awaken before the man, slowly canting into the huge palm caressing down the bare flesh.

Sam stops at the upper curves of the rounded bottom; he feels the difference in Dean as he's now waking up to open his eyes languidly. Sam continues on to soothe over the sore ass, letting fingers tickle the scrotal sac between the inner thighs.

Dean turns his head, moaning into the pillow underneath his cheek. He acts like he's ashamed of the continual want and need of Sam and his touch. He regrets how he acted after they orgasmed together—a mere two hours ago. He kicked Sam away and Sam foolishly thought that meant he was being kicked out of bed. So not the case. He's missed Sam's presence, his warmth... that weight, the way that huge-ass body can conform about him—Dean Winchester—and make him feel safe and protected. He wants that back; he never wants to lose it again. It's not going to matter to him how their private relationship to one another changes... Dean will always want Sam by his side. Always. Anyway he can get him.

There's no apology from Dean. There's no pout or nagging shrill voice from Sam begging for Dean to send him scraps of emotions. There's quiet and solace, there's a sense of peace and contentedness as they lay together letting the late night pass into blue-light of early morning. Later on there _will_ be more cuddling; Sam knows _this_ for sure. Even much later, when Dean's well rested and not so sore, Dean knows they will fuck again—no _might_ or _maybe_. He quietly smiles to himself at the thought.

Sam watches intently as Dean turns a little off his stomach and looks up at him with a smirk to his lips that's always been a way he knows his brother is still in there, not having been overtaken by any revenge-seeking demon or spiteful supernatural being. He hears a heavy sigh as he slinks down on the mattress so he's almost level with Dean. Sam knows Dean wants to roll onto his back too, but the sting of the injury keeps him in only one position.

Inch by slow inch, once Dean's rolled onto his belly again, he scoots over to set his arm over Sam's bare chest. He doesn't grab the rib cage, but he does skim his fingers over warm skin, sometimes drawing patterns or writing silly words. The arm isn't tight but it's solid and it won't move unless Sam removes it. This time Sam's allowed to curl his right arm about Dean, tucking under his head and body to draw him close to his side; it's not a full-on cuddle, but it'll do.

It'll always have to do.

 **~*~the end**


End file.
